


A Family forged through Friendship

by crimsondust



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Canon Era, M/M, Multi, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-24
Packaged: 2019-09-19 15:39:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crimsondust/pseuds/crimsondust
Summary: A story about first times, relationships and everything in between, involving Bossuet, Joly and Musichetta.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [adspexi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/adspexi/gifts).



1822

The carriage had been late in starting from Le Puy en Velay towards Paris, Joly mused as he leaned on his cane.  He had thought his mother would make the most fuss, being the youngest, his family often ended up mollycoddling him, but it had been his father who showed the most concern despite being happy that his son was following in his footsteps by studying medicine. While Monsieur Joly had made sure to give his son enough money, which roughly came to a little more than 1500 francs a year, and a few hundred francs for emergencies that he could draw on, he was afraid that he would sow all his wild oats in Paris because it was what he had done during his time.  

With the parental blessings finally bestowed, the younger Joly had set off on a journey to Paris carrying a pocketful of letters from his father so that he could settle in the lodgings before his classes started. But November evenings meant everything was dark by the time he reached the city and alighted in the Latin Quarter. His landlord therefore was not in the best of moods when Joly entered his house at dinnertime, asking to be shown to his lodgings. The landlord grumbled, fiddling with his keys, and showed Joly a fairly large space, which was ill decorated but fortunately only cost ten francs a month.

Joly spent the next few days adding to his home décor: a phrenology skull from his anatomy lectures, a jar of leeches from the nearest apothecary, a large collection of plants and a stray cat which made him sneeze every time he was in close proximity to her. M. Combeferre whose own rooms were in greater disarray than Joly’s had found a partner to study the various bones and nerves in great detail, while also finding a young recruit to sound him about politics. It had not taken long for Joly to be involved with a group of young Republicans, where he had met M. de Courfeyrac, M. Bahorel and M. Bossuet. 

Joly’s medical books and journals occupied the most room, a fact which caused delight to his friend M. Combeferre from the Medical School at Hotel Dieu and considerable alarm to another friend M. de Courfeyrac. Joly, whose cheerfulness had been remarked upon more than once, had taken to every illness written by M. Hardins in the textbook, like a fish to water.

-

A little word perhaps might be required about the Joly household, for they do not appear much in our concerns afterwards. Joly's family had been in trade and professions one way or another for some generations. His grandfather had been a merchant sympathetic to Bonaparte, his elder brother was a merchant as well. His middle brother had become a clergyman, a fact which pleased Madame Joly. His sister was married to a journalist in Lyon with Republican views. Joly himself had not developed his politics till he fell in with a group of lively young people who were various shades of Republican and found that he shared their views.  

-

M. de Courfeyrac who had taken to go by Courfeyrac for Republican reasons had remarked on Joly's penchant for illness more than once. ‘You need to leave the rooms, Joly,’ he said throwing open the window. Joly wrapped in a warm coat vehemently protested against this as being a very Royalist decree.

Also wasn’t opening windows bringing in the cold winds that their other friend, a delightful M. Prouvaire had said brought in the mythical bears from the land of Ultima Thule. But more importantly than that, Joly had acquired a cold nose and a ticklish throat, a combination which did not lend itself favourably to things like attending lectures, ‘The Parisian weather does not agree with me.’ he said touching his nose sagaciously with his cane. 

He looked at his tongue in the mirror, made a note in his diary and noted the time. He then applied a white powder to the tip of his tongue and grimaced as he swallowed it. ‘Testing the effects of sulphide 1 g solution,’ he wrote in his neat cursive scrawl, then observed the hue of his tongue again after three hours.

****

1827

‘You are coming with us to the theatre.’ M. Courfeyrac put his arm in Joly’s. They had been showing a viewing of The Barber of Seville and Prouvaire had been struck by the young actress and insisted on his friends accompanying him. ‘She is the most charming young woman I have seen.’  

Talking to her however was a matter on which Prouvaire could not be persuaded despite Courfeyrac and Bahorel agreeing to help him out. Joly had been pleasantly surprised to find that M. Bahorel knew about theatre in great detail and had engaged Courfeyrac in a discussion of Shakespeare’s Hamlet by some English performers that he had seen only a few days ago, which had led them to suggest staging Hamlet on their own. That performance much promised and expected had been put on hold because of M Bahorel’s commitments with other political groups.

Joly who was still miffed to be out in the cold without an umbrella- the suggestion of said object had immediately been vetoed by Courfeyrac and Bahorel- was eager to leave the theatre and settle in the warm comforts of his bed. Instead, he found himself waiting in the café nearby for the downpour to stop. It was not that terrible, he thought, upon reflection. The pretty young actress had also taken refuge in there and she looked upon him favourably. Courfeyrac and Prouvaire had started a discussion on Gothic architecture and Courfeyrac was making jokes about buttresses and arches aided by Bahorel and it was not long before they realised that the downpour had stopped, and they could leave.

The next time he met the young actress, it was when Prouvaire knocked on his door excitedly, 'I need to drop off my script for M. Harel, I would ask Courfeyrac but he and Bahorel are travelling to Lyon for a few days till the excitement of the government over the latest riots dies down. It would be unwise for them to be arrested again.'

‘I…have to go to my lecture in anatomy.’ Joly mumbled gathering his things. His experiment had not produced the results he desired, so he was going to alter the dosage to test its effects. He also wondered if he should start adding a teaspoon of mercury to see if it was as useful as zinc in treating rheumatism, but all of that would have to wait until tomorrow.

Prouvaire’s face fell, ‘Then I shall go alone into the brave new world, I have become enough of a stranger to Parisian streets through my travels, that their charm has reappeared.’

Joly who knew of Prouvaire’s tendency to get lost travelling from one place to another, hesitated, ‘The Odeon theatre is on my way,’ he sighed, ‘I need to turn right towards Rue Rambuteau, instead of left for the hospital.’

So, it was that Joly found himself standing in the dimly lit theatre, while Prouvaire excitedly delivered the script and explained the ideas to M. Harel and the actors. Joly ended up discovering the name of the young actress, Mademoiselle Musichetta, a charming creature, and she smiled with her large eyes at him as she carried a dress in her hands to show the director. Joly blushed at the recognition that was present in the young lady’s eyes and a smile that was on her lips. His anatomy lecturer, M. Barette was not pleased at Joly daydreaming during the lecture and set the hardest questions for him during the practical exam, which he complained about to Combeferre privately.  

 ****

1829

A young balding figure was seen in the lodgings of Mademoiselle Musichetta in Rue Rambuteau. Her friend Louise met him on the stairs and shook her head trying to suppress a giggle. ‘It seems Monsieur, that today is your unlucky day,’ she said.

‘Ah! So, somebody else is here as well? Well, I suppose Musichetta might want her key back.’ Bossuet said smiling ruefully.

‘Catherine.’ She called out, Musichetta’s face peeked out and Bossuet was quick to note an expression of guilt. He felt slightly hurt, though he took it in his stride, he did not even know what he had with Musichetta, they had known each other for some years now in various capacities and had grown towards an easy familiarity and friendship. ‘Lesgles, you do not have any reason to be hurt, it’s not like you are faithful.’

Bossuet knew this was not strictly accurate, but mostly because he had not been able to find the time or money to pursue someone else, since he had been trying to disappear from Paris for a couple of months.

It had been agreed in consultation with M. Enjolras, Courfeyrac, Combeferre and Feuilly that it would be well for the members of their group to lay low for a while, because a riot had erupted near Enjolras' printshop after a funeral and the gendarmes had questioned the employees but had not been able to prove anything. Nevertheless they were on high alert for any Republican activities. M. Bossuet had also been the unexpected receiver of 100 francs from a beloved aunt, which had paid for his fees for this semester. In the summer they took trip to the Joly establishment in Le Puy en Velay and a further trip to Lyon with Bahorel on their way back to Paris. He had not seen Musichetta for several months and he felt guilty at the accusatory look he must have given. A tousled head appeared and was surprised to see the guest.

‘Bossuet! What are you doing here?’

Bossuet looked closely to find Joly was the guilty party.

‘So, you’re the man I apparently have to duel, to win back my mistress.’ Bossuet grinned.

‘No one’s duelling anyone. I do not want you both fighting over my honour.’ Musichetta exclaimed glaring at the two young man who were standing opposite each other with a twinkle in their eyes, before realising that the young men had burst into laughter and she shook her head at the young students.

‘Lesgles and I, our circles had overlapped in the past.’ Musichetta began, ‘I was not an actress then, I worked in a modest linen and lace shop and went by Catherine. When the shop was shut down, I paid a visit with Bossuet to his aunt who encouraged me to start in theatre. I took the name Musichetta as a homage to my Italian grandmother when I started acting.’

It was Musichetta’s turn to ask the questions as all three of them sat on the bed and Bossuet had given her a kiss on the hand by way of introduction, ‘How do you know each other?’

‘Bossuet is my closest friend, our social circles overlapped quite a bit as well.’

‘Oh? The Bohemian parties?’ Musichetta asked, ‘I remember Lesgles taking me to one and he lost me and did not bother finding me again.’

Bossuet looked slightly sheepish, and began apologising, ‘I do seem to be unlucky in that regard. Recently I lost my lodgings again and my options had rather dwindled because of Courfeyrac being out of town,  hence the use of your key, although I should have let you know. At that time, it seemed the easiest thing to do, rather than drag you deeper in our circles, especially after...’

‘After what?’

‘After the political situation at that time.’ Bossuet finished.

Joly nodded.

‘You knew about this?’ Musichetta asked running her fingers through Joly’s hair while he echoed Bossuet and kissed her hand.  

‘That was er… more or less how Bossuet and I met.’

Joly saw more and more of Musichetta over the coming weeks, she even spent many days with him at his lodgings. Bossuet during those days in his efforts to be discrete would often not be present while she was there. He had taken up lodgings with their other friend M. Grantaire for some time, once again.

****

 


	2. Chapter 2

1820                                                                                                   

Lesgles arrived in Paris in much the same way, as he had been told once by his mother, he arrived in the world, wet and nearly reduced to tears despite his patience and goodwill. Even though he had a letter of recommendation for lodgings he was going to share with two other students, the old woman who was both a landlady and a sometimes cook, did not open the door, taking in Bossuet's appearance for a dangerous intruder. Not knowing anyone and with the first hotel he found his way to, being full, he proceeded to sleep near the foot of the stairs using his coat as a pillow.

It wasn’t long before the student he was going to share the flat with, spotted him at five in the morning. He was slightly drunk as most students who have been in town sampling the food and wine all night usually are.

‘And who might you be-e?’ the student’s speech was a little slurred.

Bossuet rolled over, he did not like being awaken when he had, what it felt to him, only drifted off to sleep five minutes ago, then he remembered his surroundings and sat up, his back aching.

‘Lesgles from Meaux. Newly descended upon Paris, but the landlady goes to bed early and the door was locked.’

‘Oh, like that expounder of God’s ideas to which we give the worthy name of bishop who also hails from Meaux? Has anyone called you Bossuet? If not, I shall consider myself clever to have hit upon a nickname for you. I could tell from your accent that you were not Parisian, Monsieur Lesgles. Though your accent is not Southern.’

Lesgles grinned, ‘You are not the first to think of the nickname. But I am not a Royalist anymore.’ the newcomer did not look in much greater shape than him. ‘My family owed their fortune to Louis XVIII in fact. The king found the spelling of my father's name amusing. I recently lost my inheritance in the postal offices, and I seem to have lost my shoes, my hat and some of my money during my travels, the only thing I have acquired is my father's coat. Since I have told you about my fortunes such as they are, are you not going to tell me yours.’

'Monsieur from Meaux, it is too early to be full of pleasure and too late to be full of wine or perhaps that is the other way round. My head is muddled. You say you stay here with me and another fellow. Capital I say, even though for all I know you might turn out not to be a good fellow and rob me at cards. Life is full of disappointments like that. But I do from general feeling invite you in. You ask a question and I give an answer. We thus have a dialogue. 

Here is an account of my misfortunes then laid out before you: I am a pupil at Gros’, I answer to the name of Grantaire should you wish to find me and to wine and oysters at Richelieu's. I do not keep orderly hours, preferring to do things out of them. But it seems we must delay our conversations till I have slept off the absinthe.’ He took out a key and opened the door, ushering Lesgles into the lodgings which he was going to share.

Grantaire's rooms were full of studies of other artists 'in the Classical style' he grumbled, 'I draw lines in the opposite direction and fill up the pages with emotions and they do not like me at art school. Emotions are a dangerous thing, M. Bossuet. From there it is a short slope to falling in love and love is misery, it is a conundrum that mystifies philosophers. You tell a young woman you like her she laughs in your face. Post hoc ergo propter hoc. Love being a misery follows from the young woman laughing. What does that matter though? I shall fail art and be a misery just as well. Therefore we must drink and open up our hearts and our hearths even if Irma Boissy sneers at me. What comes of that? the world sneers at me, and you from belonging to the world will one day sneer at me. I shall have a monumental headache in the afternoon. You look like misery too, M. funeral orator. Perhaps you might read mine.'

 ****

Lesgles had only managed to scrape 500 francs, minus the ten francs lost to a pickpocket, from a reluctant brother-in-law for his room and board. That reduced fortune did not however dampen his spirits for no sooner had he enrolled as a law student, he found a young lady with chestnut hair, and no sooner had he found her, he found another friend.

That friend happened to be M. Courfeyrac who had once given a long speech about the Republic in Blondeau’s class and thus made himself unpopular to Blondeau but popular to everyone else. It also happened to be the day when M. Bahorel was in the classroom.   

M Bahorel, was a chimera in law class, frequently remarked upon but seldom appearing to either confirm or deny the rumours of his existence. This M. Bahorel had a reputation longer than his years, was involved in five dozen different riots, in five different places, sometimes all at the same time. The longer this M. Bahorel stayed away, the greater did grow his reputation, till Bossuet was forced to confront the facts and come to the conclusion that M. Bahorel and M. Courfeyrac were one and the same person, and that M. Courfeyrac was using a fictional persona to mollify Blondeau and their other law professors. Now it wasn’t hard to assume that of M. Courfeyrac, for he had always been involved in politics, as far as Bossuet knew.

That day, a sturdy built, bearded fellow introduced himself as Jean-Pierre Bahorel, or as everyone except his law professors called him, La Liberte ou La Mort Bahorel. He made one of his rare appearances to the civil law class and Bossuet had his first taste of the riots, both in classroom, they were thrown out of the lecture because they disagreed with the law.   

Bahorel had attended the riots which killed a young student and as he told Bossuet had been arrested before, so he not only knew the laws but also what to do and what precautions to take. Bossuet found himself in the company of Bahorel and Courfeyrac who were directing everything for the group of students during the student Lallemande's funeral.  They had chosen the wrong time to discuss the double act law in the class. Bahorel had criticised it, Courfeyrac had added his points, it had been in Bossuet’s interest to say nothing, but he pleasantly shared his opinions with the professor. This was the last straw, the professor finding himself outnumbered and not finding anything to throw at these outrageous students, threw them out of the class. Hours later, they walked into the funeral which grew into a riot.

‘Welcome to practical education,’ Bahorel grinned, gesturing at the street where a couple of gamin and gamine were taking pleasure in breaking the lamps and the shop windows while workers gathered on the streets, ‘The law professors in their stuffy chambers will not teach you as well as a bout of fisticuffs on the streets, especially fisticuffs with the Royalists and Classicists.’

‘We should start a school for practical Education then,’ Bossuet grinned, ‘if we teach everyone how to fight, do you reckon we could have another 89?’

‘I do believe you have hit upon the idea, Bossuet. We should have a school,’ Courfeyrac said, his face flushed with excitement, ‘If anything to hide our actual activities from the gendarmes. And I know just the people to ask to help run it.’

****

1823

Bossuet's acquaintance with M. Courfeyrac and Bahorel grew over the coming months. He helped them smuggle boxes of cartridges from M. Enjolras and Sons printershop in the dead of the night during a raid by the police. M. Courfeyrac had chusen to pay no attention to his life or liberty, and had extricated Bossuet from the scene before he could be caught. On another occassion, they had helped Louison with some of her troubles with Patron Minette. M. Courfeyrac had helped Bossuet escape the gendarmes on many occasions during riots and had also offered him a place to sleep, when he moved out from Grantaire’s establishment because of the paint, his worsening health and the landlady's dislike of him.  

He had also found two new acquaintances, an M. Combeferre and M. Joly. It was surprising the rate at which Courfeyrac picked up strangers and befriended them. The two new friends, both medical students, in turn seemed astonished at the rate at which Bossuet picked up maladies and injuries and tried to treat him with smelling salts, some herbs and bloodletting, which made him feel temporarily faint but slightly better after. Bossuet had acquired a reputation at the medical school for being the favourite model for the students to practice treating injuries.

M. Joly brought him warm teas from his trips to the parental nest and talked excitedly about blood circulation being affected by the alignment of poles. M. Joly, who himself walked with a little limp and a cane, had been spending all his free time around Bossuet and Grantaire,

‘Joly might have an affinity to cats, and therefore be catlike by all appearances, but it is most uncharacteristic to disappear for weeks after we had discovered Corinthe and its food,’ Grantaire grumbled, stroking Achilles the stray cat which had adopted Joly. He did not admit that he was sorely missing Joly’s cheerfulness and his philosophy on cats. Corinthe had been discovered by Grantaire, which he would not admit, it was also a very good place for political discussion, another thing which Grantaire would not admit. 

****

1824

While Bossuet was being swept up in the riots and organisation of the School for Universal Education, he quickly gained the acquaintance of a few young ladies, including one who worked in a small linen and lace shop. Her name was Catherine and she was charmed by Bossuet and his disarming manners. They often were found at the Sceaux balls, till it became a thing being remarked upon. She in turn was full of good humour at Bossuet losing things, even the few remaining hairs on his head.

‘Truly, a woman cares for you, when she does not notice the thinning hair on your head or that you have no fortune in your name left by your father.’ Bossuet told Grantaire over two or three bottles of absinthe that he had recently become acquainted with the young nephew of Enjolras and Sons, whose youthful face carried the signs of being involved in politics from time immemorial. He wouldn’t have been surprised if the young Enjolras told them that he had also been in the French Revolution, though he hardly looked all of seventeen, which he was.

They did usually test each and every new member, Courfeyrac did at least, they could not be too careful, spies in service of the Parisian police could easily infiltrate their group and sabotage their operations, but the earnestness in Enjolras’ face left very little to be vetoed, except to find out more about how he came to be the heir of a printshop run by his uncle.

Bossuet’s own thoughts were drifting with the passage of time and with Grantaire’s deeply philosophical and long winded musings, towards his own inheritance, a post office and some land. The running of the post office was taken over by his brother-in-law immediately after the death of his father and he had then thought to make some use of the land, but an ill-advised investment meant he lost that too. He had soon lost his sister in a travelling accident.

He was reflecting on absent fathers, lost inheritances and the question of the law school. Grantaire had devolved deeper into his cups and into sadness, ‘I do not understand maths Bossuet, I lost more than I remember at cards yesterday.' He gestured to Matelote to bring them more wine. ‘And when I was sketching martyrs today at the studio I was thinking Enjolras is a martyr, he dedicates himself to matters of war like Camillia and not enough to matters of love. Only today I saw him at the printershop, he did not even glance up from his work. I tell you, Enjolras is not a mortal man, he is like Diana, chaste and deadly.’

****

1827

Bossuet had found himself at Bahorel’s for a couple of weeks. He did not mind the situation so much, except when Bahorel’s mistress showed up. She herself was studying to be an avant garde painter, smoked tobacco like Bahorel, cursed like him, lived cheerfully on potatoes and had a pleasant laughter. Her grandfather was a freed slave from Saint-Dominique and she had learned how to shoot guns at an early age from him. She had opposed France’s colonisation of Algeria in early 1830s by writing several articles for Le Globe in collaboration with Bahorel and had several pamphlets from Courgourde d'Aix and other groups. With the help of Enjolras and Bahorel, she had started a small printing press under her brother’s name because women could not control their own property.

This suited Eugenie because her brother was only owner in name while she ran the business along with her mother. She talked about Saint Simonianism and Fourierism and believed in equality of sexes and free love. They did not mind having a third person around, sometimes even requested he be there for a threesome.

It did make a change from living with Grantaire and always having to come across bottles and paint supplies and his 'spleen and melancholy' as he called it. Bossuet couldn’t remember the last time was he could breathe and smell things through both his nostrils, without the smell of paint mixed in.  He took it on good faith that something smelled good or terrible, from his friends’ reactions for several months.

He had also lodged with M. Feuilly and some of his other atelier friends and had lively discussions about the giraffe that Charles X had accepted to turn his back on the Greeks which turned into Feuilly eloquently pointing out how Greece was being pillaged, and into stories of how animals they had had as gifts. Bossuet remembered his aunt’s parrot and he had also temporarily been the owner of a turtle, quite by accident.  

Courfeyrac had once teased Feuilly about the eventuality of any discussion with him ending with mentions of Poland, after which Feuilly had talked passionately on how Poland and Greece affected France. That had not only shut Courfeyrac up but had also prompted him to borrow books from Feuilly and learn as much as he could about Poland and Greece. Enjolras and Feuilly liked nothing more than to put their heads together and read from the books or pamphlets or giggle at the ridiculous puns they came up while reading. 

**** 

1829

Bossuet had met Catherine again, several times. Sometimes she waved from her little shop and sometimes he specifically went to her little shop, where she worked with a number of young women, making lace for the dresses.

He went to Feuilly’s atelier, talked to several women there about fashion, purchased a handpainted fan for Catherine and based on their suggestions browsed women’s magazines to learn about muslin and lace.

He often took her to the theatre or they would read the latest story that M. Courfeyrac had been working on in his spare time, a romance with swashbuckling heroes which almost always had a happy ending. For so, he said, ‘is what made it a comedy. And magazines liked comedies.’

Catherine found romances pleasant- being of a literary kind, she often wished to be better acquainted with the world of theatre and to imagine herself the heroine instead of a lace maker. It became harder for her to make ends meet, when she was suddenly dismissed from her job of several years because they shop had to close. She came to Bossuet who promptly offered her a place with him to stay, before remembering that he had no place of his own.

He did the next best thing. Eugenie and Bahorel listened to her story and offered to set her up with some friends of theirs, while she looked for work, which was harder to come by these days. No one in lace making was hiring in Paris at the moment. She must have gone to at least half a dozen shops with inquiries but had no connections or parents to offer her a fresh start.

Bossuet’s aunt had been school friends with Mademoiselle Mars, the famous actress who was often on stage and Bossuet offered to introduce her to his aunt. She lived in Meaux and was the only relation he had left in the world, apart from the brother-in-law who owned the post office and occasionally sent in money. He did not know her well, on account of only having met her at the time of his christening. She disapproved of her relations and they thought her eccentric. The carriage rolled up to her house in Meaux and Bossuet braced himself to being refused.

‘Your father did me a grave hurt by dying off so quickly. He was my favourite nephew. I also heard about your mother's remarriage which I approve. I have a special dislike for your brother-in-law. He worried your sister to her grave.’ She said in greeting. She sized him up while her cat and her parrot did the same, ‘You are beginning to look a lot like your father, he was also losing his hair and his heir has lost everything. I did get the news.’

Bossuet grinned good-naturedly at this dressing down, which he knew was harmless. Despite her gruff exterior, Bossuet’s aunt kindly agreed to introduce Catherine to a number of her friends and kept her promise by giving her several letters of recommendation and extracted a promise from her nephew to not lose her. M. Harel was delighted to welcome a charming young lady to star in a new drama. Catherine adopted the name of Musichetta. M. Victor Hugo was set to stage a play called Marion Delorme, should it pass through the censors. There was also another play by M. Dumas, Henri III, starring Frederick Lemaitre and she was welcome to play a role in it as well.

Bossuet had found his time more and more occupied with the activities of their group. He had been staking out Madame Bertin’s shop for hours in the hopes of the gendarmes leaving, so that they could smuggle out the guns and the cartridges without suspicion falling on the worthy Madame B. He had also learned a rudimentary code taught by Feuilly and Bahorel, so he could communicate with the other groups and with Madame B on smuggling guns and hiding the bullets before the gendarmes made their search. 

He wrote a letter to Musichetta, which he intended to send with Navet, a young gamin, but it reached her several weeks later, by which time Bossuet had involved himself in another riot and had been unable to write a reply on accounts of being injured and also on account of not having a place to live again. He was living on his last five louis, as he told Grantaire and Joly. That five-louis was soon gone, such things happen all the time. Though if Grantaire was to be believed, Bossuet had bought a splendid pun for that price. Such things also happen all the time. Frustrated at not hearing anything for months, Musichetta gave up writing letters. We reproduce the contents of the letter here for posterity.

Dearest darling,

I hope that this letter finds you well, I need to disappear for a few weeks as an obedient nephew to visit my aunt. There are things I wish to tell you after my return.

Yours, Jean-Charles Muriel (Riri)

 ****

1830

Bossuet at this time was not sleeping very well, moving from a friend’s place to another, often sleeping on the street or under the bridge when he was not able to find lodgings because his friends were away from Paris.

Once he had been evicted from the shared lodgings with Prouvaire due to his landlord raising prices because he believed Bossuet was penniless and Prouvaire was a nuisance to the order of the neighbourhood, both of those things were true. Bossuet had been without much means for a while and Prouvaire had been singing Republican songs with the Bouzingots and had been arrested subsequently. 

After the riots, Prouvaire had temporarily taken up nest with Bahorel and Eugenie and, four, being more than a crowd, Bossuet had thought to not bother Bahorel again. 

Fortunately, Bossuet and M. Joly had formed enough of an understanding and were always making the same jokes, that one day, M. Joly told Bossuet that if only, Bossuet did not mind the fumes of the hydrochloric solution so much or the occasional cadavers around the flat, he would be happy to install Bossuet in his own flat.

This was said with so much sincerity that Bossuet could not doubt the words and this along with, ‘I enjoy your company too much, to bear to have you anywhere else,’ sealed the deal. There are often people who by nature are suited to each other. Joly being prone to anxious thoughts about diseases sometimes, worked best with Bossuet’s intelligent and calm voice of reason, a fact that was made clearer when Joly fell ill.

Joly had been experimenting more with different solutions. His lodgings looked more erratic than ever, there were more pamphlets, ‘I need to move Saint-Just and Maximillian Robespierre, to make room for the books on anatomy by M. de Robert,’ he told Bossuet.

They had been making more and more room for pamphlets and political protests. Bossuet had even been neglecting more of his classes to ‘make room for the revolution’ he said, ‘and to escape becoming a lawyer.’

Bossuet and Joly had been eating pastries at the café at Rue St-Hyacinthe after a rather long day of printing and distributing pamphlets and making cartridges. Joly was shuffling his pastry rather hastily in his mouth with an open book in front of him describing amputation in great detail, ‘I must be ready for my surgery exam,’ he said between mouthfuls, ‘I do not think I shall do well at all.’

Two gamins entered the café and went straight to Bossuet, ‘A note from M. Courfeyrac over there.’ The young child said waiting. Joly took out five sou coins and handed it to the gamin who promptly showed them to his friend who was waiting outside. They talked excitedly of buying some white bread for a change.

The note simply said to come 16 Rue de la Verrerie. Charles X had censored the press and the revolution had taken to the streets. Joly and Bossuet rushed to hail a carriage forgetting to take the umbrella in their haste. Joly never noticed that it was raining. It just so happened that Joly’s letter to Musichetta never reached her in the scramble and haste.

This was the content:

 ~~Dearest~~ Darling Musichetta,

I am scribbling these lines in haste. I might not see you for some months. Will write when all is well.

Your ~~~~s, A. Joly (fellow)

****

 


	3. Chapter 3

1830

Joly had not managed to contact Musichetta again.

Two months later, Joly had been managing some of his symptoms for the sore leg with zinc and belladonna. Consulting his notes, he had found zinc to be of some effect in treating rheumatism with very little effects of nausea.

The effect of that leg injury with the upcoming externat examinations and the disappointment from the July Revolution, made him confess to Bossuet that he did not think he would make it to Bahorel’s party on account of being gravely ill- to the point of dying.

‘Come now, a simple matter of death has never stopped anyone from going to a Romantics’ party. Prouvaire says that all you need to do is make sure your head is sewed back up properly.’ Bossuet smiled, fluffling up Joly’s pillows for him, ‘But it might be better if you rested for tonight. I will stay with you and keep you company.’

‘I need to write a letter to Musichetta, apologising for my silence.’ Joly said gesturing to the paper and quill on the table opposite the bed.

‘I shall write to Musichetta and let her know.’ Bossuet said, trying to stop Joly from getting up and fainting on the spot.

‘Don’t tell her that I am ill, she will worry.’ Joly said feeling drowsy but still propping himself up on the pillows by a heroic effort.

‘Let me know what?’  a voice called from the door, ‘Combeferre told me you were ill. Joly, why ever would you not say that you were gravely ill. How did this happen?’ Musichetta rushed in and embraced Joly and kissed him on the forehead.

In response Joly coughed in his handkerchief, ‘I’m not sure. There was the July Revolution and my injury from which has not fully healed. I suspect it may have gotten worse because of our sudden travel and my worry about the externat examinations on which I am still afraid I did not do as well as I had hoped. I had started to test the effects of a little bit of camphor added with zinc, I’m not sure what the effects are. I haven’t yet made a scientific study and my notes are empty since June.’

‘You can start the study after you’re recovered.’ Bossuet said, clasping his hand and kissing his cheek.

‘I need you to do me a favour Bossuet.’ Joly said trying to get out of bed before being ordered back into it by both Bossuet and Musichetta. He grinned weakly but slipped under the covers, ‘Can you fetch the leeches from the apothecary? I seem to have run out of them and will need some to break the fever. That is, I feel reliably the early effects of the fever coming on and I wish to be prepared for it.’

Bossuet took the slip of paper and walked to the apothecary. The apothecary measured out two dozen leeches. He ran into Madame Hucheloup trying to fill a prescription of her own, ‘bad knees,’ she told him, showing a bottle that the apothecary had filled, and Bossuet nodded in sympathy and mumbled something about bad knees being a terrible bane, he had two of those himself, which knocked about during dancing and made an awful noise. Madame Hucheloup smiled, Bossuet could always make her feel cheerful with his quips. 

Joly’s fever took a turn for the worse as he had predicted and Bossuet and Musichetta spent the next two days beside him. Combeferre and one of his fellow doctors were always there, filling for each other, so that one could go to sleep for a while. The others took turns in coming to visit. Prouvaire brought his lute but Joly could not stand having music played in his feverish state, so Prouvaire settled for a quiet read of Hoffmann he had meant to read. The horrors did not disturb Joly, in fact after his externat examinations and being grilled by his lecturers for nearly four hours on every disease imaginable, ‘Nothing can ever scare me than that moment holding the scalpel in my hand, Dr. Moreau shouting instructions at me and the patient with the gangrenous leg at the operating table. I don’t know how I didn’t manage to kill everyone there.’

‘You’re a good doctor Joly. Remember the time you saved that young boy’s life?’ Bossuet said.

‘That was not… patients have died. I wish I had tried some other remedies…’

‘Listen,’ Musichetta said kissing him softly, ‘We love you. Medical science is not exact but look how much we know, you’re always telling us of some new ideas, magnetism to increase the blood flow, homeopathy medicine…someday we will know a little bit more and it will be a discovery made by Doctor Joly.’

Joly shivered, his skin clammy and cold to the touch and smiled with pale lips that uttered little sound. Musichetta curled up on one side of him and Bossuet the other, till the fever broke the next morning.   

 ****

Musichetta had gone home, she felt slightly guilty about it, since Joly was not yet recovered to his usual cheerful self. But her sister had written, imploring her to come for a few days and she must fulfil the duties of visiting her and taking care of her during childbirth. She left a letter hoping Bossuet or Joly would see it and packed her trunks. She was surprized to find how little baggage she had, a few books and a few dresses. Everything else was in Joly’s rooms including her props. She did enjoy acting and M. Harel had been so kind in getting her more parts. She was starring in a play by M. Dumas soon. She had grown used to the world of her little luxuries, though she did wonder in what exact arrangement, she stood with Sieurs Joly and Bossuet. Did Joly’s parents know about her and approve? She knew Bossuet’s old aunt. She tried to put the matter out of her mind. She had not used the word love again after Joly’s feverish night.

The rain fell on the carriage windows and made a pattering sound. Musichetta’s thoughts still drifted towards Joly and Bossuet, even as she tried to read a book that their friend Prouvaire had lent her. She had seen him put one or two of Prouvaire’s plays at the Comedie Francaise, the plays did not last long. Apparently, the censors did not like him, was the rumour among all the actors she had talked to. Too revolutionary.

The carriage rattled onwards through the green countryside but all she could think about was the way Joly talked about the human body, in anatomical terms, while laying beside her. She was rather charmed by it, she had a grim fondness for macabre and so did he by virtue of his profession. She wondered what Joly’s parents would think of her, an actress. She might not be received so warmly by them, she mused.     

****

Joly was used to the tread of Bossuet’s feet and him slipping quietly beside him, placing a hand on his hot forehead, tying the tourniquet on the arm, administering the leeches and the medicine and having his body pressed against his for comfort and warmth. ‘You will end up with this dreadful plague that I have yet to diagnose and I shall feel most wretched about it,’ Joly told him one day as they lay in bed.

‘Nonsense. Monsieur Guignon has spared me ill health. I am in perfect constitution. It’s a trait of the Lesgles family. My father was in the best of health and humour before he passed.’ Bossuet laughed.

‘Well I hope I shall never have to lose you. I don’t know what I would do without you.’ Joly said giving Bossuet a kiss on the cheek, which made him turn red.

‘I do keep things together,’ Bossuet admitted grinned, ‘What is an eagle without his ailes? I should not want to lose you too dearest friend.’

 ****

Courfeyrac and Bahorel brought with them an endless number of pamphlets from Enjolras’ printshop to be distributed among the students and the workers in different quarters.  

Joly when he could sit up would help them with putting the pamphlets together. Feuilly had come armed with several books on history and after an excited discussion, which caused Joly to turn red with coughing they had decided that it might be best if discussions about Poland could be started when Joly was better, so Feuilly talked about his atelier and his work and his efforts at learning Greek, which was not going well. He never failed to have the effect of producing happiness with his enthusiasm.

Bahorel had also brought in several visitors including a reluctant younger brother who was also studying in Paris. The brothers differed in several opinions, yet it was obvious that Bahorel was fond of his younger brother. Bahorel was also incredibly pleased at what the newspapers were reporting about young groups like them, ‘The Infamous Republicans.’ La Moniteur, one of the newspapers wrote. Another newspaper wrote about ‘The Reds’ and how dangerous they were. ‘Good.’ Bahorel said, ‘I would have been surprised and disappointed if they had spoken well about us, since they are royalists and the editor dislikes me.’

But there was a worry in his tone, ‘I have not seen Combeferre and Enjolras since we were taking our watch outside Corinthe to flush out the spy two days ago. I have asked everyone I know. The only explanation…’

‘No.’ Courfeyrac said firmly shaking his head, ‘They are not searching for insurgents from July. Charles Jeanne and the others received the July Decorations. There is no reason why Enjolras and Combeferre would be in trouble. They aren’t, are they?’ he bit his lip.

‘Well there is the trial for Polignac and his minister friends coming up as well as a funeral for an influential figure. The National Guards will be there and they might have a tendency to arrest first and ask questions later, therefore we must exercise restraint. I wouldn’t rule out this scenario happening past ‘the bourgeois king’ - what a ridiculous title- no such thing as a good monarch. A monarch is a pox on the health of the Republic. The people who were influential betrayed us by giving us this sorry excuse who walks with umbrellas.’  

‘Well I’d rather be cold than carry an umbrella.’ Courfeyrac said with some force.

‘I’m sure they are fine, it’s not so bad spending a day or two in prison, I’ve been several times.’ Bahorel said trying to keep a casual tone.

‘I wish I could share that sentiment with you.’ Courfeyrac said, looking worried towards his pocket watch. He put the pocket watch away and determined to look in every corner till he had found them out or shared their fate in a cold, damp prison. Bahorel sighed, normally he was happy to delegate responsibility to Enjolras, so he did not have to take on the burden of keeping everyone together and could maintain his carefree reputation. But he couldn’t persuade Courfeyrac to keep a low profile and seeing the look on his face, he decided against it. It would have to be a thorough search, without alerting the gendarmes. They would have to find people they could trust. It might even be too late, they might be walking into a trap laid for them.

Joly volunteered to go visit all the corners that he knew Combeferre might visit in his work duties. ‘I have been on rounds with him. I can go over every inch of ground.’ He said coughing loudly into his handkerchief.

‘Certainly not. We have others. Another doctor, the doctor who attended you during the worst of your fever.’ Bahorel brought out a scribbled piece of paper, ‘I shall send him a message. You are still not fit to leave.’

‘Can we trust the new doctor?’

‘He’s a Republican and he has been discrete so far. I do not think he will do much else, but he can make some inquiries among his contacts. Someone must have seen Combeferre after his shift ended at Necker.’

‘And we don’t know where Enjolras is.’

‘I’m less worried about Enjolras. Combeferre still hasn’t learned how to fight properly. In unarmed combat he would be less successful.’ Bahorel said stroking his beard thoughtfully.

‘I am going to look for them, at the police station if I have to.’ Courfeyrac said grabbing his coat and Bossuet followed behind.

It was two hours before Courfeyrac returned, cold and wet, since he had refused to take an umbrella with him. ‘I have sent out word to everyone we know but did not manage to find them.’

Feuilly followed close behind having just finished his day’s work at the atelier and ready to leave to look for his friends.

‘We’ve done all we can. It’s too late to go looking for them now.’ Bahorel said a faint worry creeping in his tone of voice. Feuilly was hopeful that they should find them in the morning. ‘It would only worry them further and solve nothing, if we went out to look for them at night.’

‘Where…. where’s Bossuet?’ Joly asked, his voice cracking with emotion.

‘I swear he was right behind me, he said to go on ahead and he was coming.’ Courfeyrac said leaning out of the window in the foggy rain, ‘What a night! I set out to find two friends, I ended up losing another. Bossuet’s luck must have rubbed off on me.’ 

Everyone was eventually convinced to lay down on the floor or the sopha or wherever they could find a space, but no one slept a wink. Prouvaire tried to keep up conversation for a while by talking about a curious plant his friend had gifted him but they soon fell quiet.   

In the morning, Feuilly went with Bahorel to search for Enjolras and Combeferre. Grantaire tagged along with them, while the rest made breakfast, and no one talked. It was a bright morning, one of the few ones this season and the weather outside was warm.  Prouvaire had been trying to cheer up Joly and Courfeyrac with limited success. The door of the lodgings creaked slightly, everyone watched with bated breath as Bossuet appeared.

‘Where were you? Am I glad to see you!’ Courfeyrac did not know whether to give Bossuet a hug or to give him a friendly punch on the shoulder for disappearing and worrying everyone.

‘I ran into some gendarmes, they asked for papers and arrested me, because I happened to look like trouble with my threadbare coat.’ Bossuet grinned, ‘I told them I was rather fond of my coat. My coat has seen many adventures with me. Grantaire found and rescued me and we went for a breakfast before coming here. You have not lived till you have tried the breakfast at M. Revel’s establishment.’

Grinning sheepishly was a serious looking Grantaire, who said he had lost touch of time during a game of billiards and casually dismissed finding Bossuet. He had searched for Enjolras and Combeferre as well, without any success, which made him feel unhappy. All sorts of scenarios clouded his mind- of Enjolras having been killed and he started talking about the futility of rushing towards ideals and pleased that no one could accuse him of _that_.

He was leaning near the door and was the first to see Enjolras and Combeferre, ‘Enjolras in his physical form appears, though that form may be more suited for a museum, I would not be in a position to state. But he is here in splendid glory, no hair touched. A perfect specimen.’ His eyes never left Enjolras’ face, no matter what his tongue might say.    

Enjolras smiled at Grantaire describing him in detail and dispelled the look of concern from his audience’s face. Courfeyrac confirmed it was really Enjolras in flesh by going up to him and burying his face on his shoulder and staying there contended for some amount of time.  

‘I am here as you can see. You can feel my pulse if you wish, but it is better if we did that for the places I have in mind for us all to sound out. We must know whether their heart beats Republican or more blood and fervour needs to be pumped up.’ Enjolras laughed at the look on Bahorel’s face, which had only turned from worry to nonchalance a moment too late, ‘There was a meeting with a new acquaintance, I did not think it wise that everyone should go, so I did not say much, putting everyone in trouble would not have been prudent and I knew that if I told Courfeyrac...’

‘That we would insist on going.’

‘It turned out to be the right decision. Combeferre found out and insisted on going with me. We nearly walked into a very neat little trap set for us. I cannot be sure, but I suspected someone from Patron Minette was there and that put me on alert even before we reached the place. We instead went to a safe house and then returned as soon as we were sure that the gendarmes had stopped searching for us.’

Courfeyrac went from one to the other like a cat who has found treats and is sure of being petted and they spent a day hanging around Joly’s lodgings, singing songs and having long conversations.

 ****

1831

Grantaire, Bossuet and Joly had spent the day having an excellent breakfast to celebrate Joly’s recovery after which Joly had thrown himself in work. The duties of an externat on top of his classes and the recent cholera outbreak meant he needed to be there at Hotel Dieu at any time. His experiments with different chemical substances lay forgotten, as well as the paper he was writing on camphor.

Musichetta with her own schedule and acting commitments meant that they rarely had time to meet anymore. Musichetta was also not pleased that Joly was working himself too much. She had not become completely used to his political work and worried that she might lose him too soon with the whole city erupting in riots frequently.

Joly had written her several letters in the interim, which she kept in a locked drawer and often took out to read. She had sent her friend Louise to inform M. Joly to not send anymore letters till she had made up her mind about whether she wanted to see him. Joly was heartbroken at the fact that Musichetta’s missive was so unkind. He asked Bahorel for advice.  

Bahorel and Joly were walking towards Staub’s, with Bahorel giving Joly pointers on what he should be looking for in a dress.

‘I take dressing very seriously. To the practiced eye, the differences are immediately clear between what is acceptable as fashion for the bourgeoisie and what is not. Which is why, if you’re going to annoy the bourgeoisie, you might as well do it the most obvious way.’ Bahorel explained while Joly stood in the shop staring at the rows of suits and trousers making high pitched squeals of excitement.

The tailor took Joly’s measurements, they selected the entire suit, Joly was determined to impress Musichetta and left the shop in high spirits.

‘I’m worried that the trousers might be too tight, Bahorel.’ Joly said.

‘Nonsense, how are you supposed to impress Musichetta without trousers that show you in the best light from every angle.’

‘Bahorel!’ Joly said rolling his eyes and putting his walking stick too forcefully on the ill-paved narrow street on which they were walking.

‘All clothing, Joly,’ Bahorel said, ‘is a form of art. There’s no use pretending that Louis Boulanger or any artist in his work does not also want to go for a titillating meaning to attract the audience’s attention, even if he does also intend the Mazeppa as breaking free from bondage and repression. With fashion, you are the art and the statement, I’m sure Louis would appreciate me mixing metaphors.’

Joly laughed and then set about writing a letter to Musichetta in Bahorel’s rooms, while Prouvaire displayed his latest creation, a medieval inspired doublet that he and Bahorel had worked on.  ‘See, I can’t wait to see what Le Figaro thinks of this.’ Bahorel laughed, while Prouvaire beamed at the reaction.

Joly displayed the latest suit in front of his audience, complete with his favourite cane with a decorated golden handle. Bahorel smiled at him like a proud mother hen, kissed him coolly on the lips and told him to hurry up and write his letter to his Musichetta.  

My dearest darling,

I am not as yet a good enough writer to express everything I feel in a letter, but I love you, dearest, with all my soul. 

P.S. I shall be at Revel's Restaurant tomorrow, I hope you will come. I hear there might be rain, do carry an umbrella, it's not a sniffling matter. Ha- ha!  

Cheerfully yours in sickness or in health, Joly

 ****

1832

Back in their own lodgings and left to peace and quiet for the first time in several months, Joly had the feeling of coming home, that each piece fit in where it was meant to. He believed in the Republic, never more ardently than now and he believed more than ever that he and Bossuet fit together. As they lay on the floor side by side, Joly found himself looking at Bossuet and smiling.  

‘What?’ Bossuet smiled, and Joly noticed how the dimple in Bossuet’s cheek made his smile light up even more.

‘I feel as if I’ve known you forever, as if our souls were always acquainted. It’s a warm feeling, which fills me up completely, and this is extremely sappy, but I feel that our friendship will outlive even Death himself.’

‘You have chosen an odd time to be philosophical Joly, besides, I am a terrible influence, I shall drag you to all the depraved parties and your excellent Catholic father would be quite horrified at the education you are receiving in Paris.’ Bossuet laughed, while his eyes showed he was completely serious. Joly felt annoyed at Bahorel for once pointing that out.

Joly laughed, ‘So be it. I shall not want to be where you are not. I shall not want to live, if you do not. Bossuet, with our Republican activities, it has been on my mind even more than before that we might not live to see the fruits of our activities, especially since that was the gist of my argument with Musichetta. She supports writing pamphlets, she does not want to watch us die and I see that from her point of view. It takes an awful amount of courage to watch someone you love die, to always have to be brave like that, never knowing what might happen. You say I am being philosophical, but I have never been less, I speak from my heart. This is how I feel about you, how I will always feel about you,’ Joly put his hand in Bossuet’s.

‘I think,’ Bossuet said after a while, ‘Your experiments in magnetism are really paying off.’ It took a two minutes for the implications of what Bossuet had said to dawn on Joly and then he blushed and laughed.

****

Joly met Musichetta at Revel’s restaurant. They did not have to say anything, a quick peck on the cheek, a warm embrace. And all was said.

    

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. A couple of notes: First of all a very kind thanks to my beta readers KChan88 and Autumn. 
> 
> 2\. The joke that Bahorel mentions to Joly is based on a fanart by Pilferingapples of the Louis Boulanger painting.


End file.
